Have you seen the movie The Number 23? The boy and I watched it recently, and wow. It's a damn good movie. I'll try not to give anything away for those of you who haven't yet seen it but want to, but here's a philosphical question for you: if a person has a not-so-happy past, do you consider them "damaged goods," and therefore interact with them differently than you would if they'd had a happier past or if you didn't know their past at all? Is there a knee-jerk yes or no answer, or would you take into consideration all the details of past situations before passing strict judgement? This plays into the last bit of that movie (again, no spoilers), as well as circumstances in my own life recently.
I've been thinking a lot lately about fate, or the idea that some things are just meant to happen the way they do. I've never been comfortable with the notion that "someone, somewhere" was directing my life, be it some god or just some strange spiritual something that magically made things happen a certain way for unrevealed reasons and then kept score. Maybe I just want to know that I alone control whatever destiny that I have (or don't have). Maybe I've just learned well that old adage that "if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself;" I don't want some thing screwing up what I think I know to be best for me.
But then, some things do happen in ways that seem eerily predestined. As much as I might lash out against whatever unseen overseer may make things line up the way they do, I cannot deny my own experiences. When things aren't lining up eerily, I want to pout and stomp my foot at the possibility that I'm not the only one steering my life. When they do line up I'm quiet, contemplative and - usually - relieved in the end that for whatever reason, be it fate or coincidence, things happened as they did. Because usually, those things that line up so eerily have profound effects on my life and my idea of who and what I am; it feels, then, like "this was meant to be."
It's creepy. But - I think - in a good way.
One set of events that had a great effect on who I became is my mother's previous marriage, to my step-father. I won't go into details, as they aren't mine alone to go into, but suffice it to say that what could easily be (and I'm sure oftentimes was) seen as a miserable situation in fact was one of great opportunity and growth. And I get the feeling that I'm not the only one who grew and became a wiser and better person despite the challenges; Mama Wren did, too. It wasn't a horrible or traumatizing marriage - please don't get that idea - but it ceratinly wasn't a happy one either. But it did take us all to Germany for six years during Desert Storm (my step-dad was in the Army and so stationed was there). We went there when I was five and came back when I was eleven.
What this means is that at the most impressionable and formative time of my life, I was adventuring through a foreign country and culture, learning things I may well not have learned had we stayed in the U.S. By that I don't just mean I learned how to speak German - actually, I learned more about customs, songs and games than how to speak the language, so don't ask me to interpret anything, please. What I mean by learning there what I may not have learned here is that I grew up with an acceptance of other cultures, other religions and races and backgrounds, with the experience of "growing up" in that culture to keep me open-minded. I didn't have to try to learn this slowly later in life. I had German friends who spoke little or no English that I still managed to play with, our communication being impromtu hand gestures, facial expressions, and drawings. By the time we came back to the U.S. when I was eleven, I think I probably knew more German folk tales and festivities than I did American, and that opened me up to learning more about other cultures when I was older. To truly understand other human beings, I think that this understanding is a very important thing; it takes the blinders of race and country off the eyes, so to speak.
Further, the details of my mom and step-dad's marriage had an affect on making me who I am today in terms of having a good head on my shoulders about love and gender roles. I understood long ago that adults can be very childish and self-centered, and from that learned that society's "ideal" image of family is bullshit. The father being the bread-winner and the mother a stay-at-home housewife whose entire purpose in life is to be a virtual slave to her husband and children, and those children being only able to grow up into healthy functioning members of society if they have both a mother and father in their lives is not how things are, nor is it how things should be. Women can be the bread-winners, or share that responsibility with men. Men can do dishes and iron their own shirts, or again share those tasks with women. Most importantly, children can grow up to be stable, intelligent, compassionate and loving adults with either both parents or only one - or only one who is capable of functioning in any role other than self-inflicted misery - in their lives.
Because of this, not only do I do not look to the boy to bring in all the money and make al the decisions but I do not put my functionality as an individual in his hands; I realize that without him I'd still be who I am now and I'd be just as capable of being happy and successfull in life. That's not to say I don't hang hopes and dreams on him; of course I do, but I don't do so to such an extent that my world would fall apart if those hopes and dreams were suddenly shattered and we split apart. I have known people - women and men - who are incapable of living without a partner of some sort in their lives; they feel as if they are only half or even just a shadow of a person unless there is someone else there to make them whole and validate their existence. It's sad to see, and I had one very long friendship slowly crumble and end because of this very attidtude of "worthless, unless."
Seeing my mother deal with and eventually have the strength to end a bad relationship showed me that alone or with someone else, I am strong and I am the one that makes me so. I can be happy in a relationship - romantic or merely friendly - or out of one. This early-learned knowledge has served me well in life. I've my had my heart broken twice, but these were not fatal breaks; I healed and I moved on. And now I'm in a much happier and better relationship than those two could ever have dreamed to be.
The point I make with that story is that although there were many angry and unhappy times during that marriage, both my mother and I were able to come away from it with happiness from all that transpired because of it. We were able to see all the good times that somehow magically occured not between the bad times but rather during and in spite of them. We were able to see that the unhappiness was a very reasonable price to pay for the wonderful experiences we had learning and adventuring and visiting and eating good hot german food (which, by the way, is still my all-time favorite of foreign cuisines).
One could say that the not-fantastic marriage took place in order to give us those experiences; that it was, actually, meant to be. I kinda like that idea, stubborn "I can do it myself" tendencies aside.
Although there have been other things in my life that have eerily made sense that way, no other has been as important to me as the circumstances the boy and I have faced in our relationship, most especially the ones that have transpired most recently.
Not long before we met the boy was working a construction job during the day and delivering for Roundtable during the evenings. The boss of the construction company one day decided to pick up and move the whole company to Louisiana to help with the rebuilding efforts in post-Katrina New Orleans. He offered a few employees, including the boy, jobs there, bonuses for waiting, and to pay for the move out there from here. Having recently gotten out of a bad relationship and so having nothing to keep him in the area, the boy had decided to go for it, although he wasn't exactly thrilled at the prospect. It was a job and a new beginning - nothing more. The company was shut down here in California so that the boy's only job then until everything was ready for him to move to Louisiana was delivering for Roundtable in the evenings.
In the interval he met me via Myspace. Although we were both cautious about it, we decided to meet for a first date, just to "get to know each other better." Plans were made for dinner and a movie and the date was set.
The evening before that first date, the boy was in an accident while delivering pizza. A woman ran a red light and t-boned his truck, totalling it, and the only reason the boy is alive today is that she came from the right, not the left, and therefore smashed into the passenger side rather than the driver's side of his truck. The boy came out of it with three cracked ribs, bruises, and further damage to an already bad back, but was otherwise okay.
Despite his pain, he still met me the next night, with a rose and some CDs (we had originally started talkng because we have very similar musical interests, so he gave me some CDs of bands I hadn't heard but would probably like, and did). Since then we have been damn-near inseprarable. Aside from about a dozen days all told, we saw each other every day after that, even though that meant one or the other of us driving 50+ miles up or down the hill to do so. He decided not long after that first date that he would not go to Lousiana because he wanted to try for a serious relationship with me.
A few months later, he learned through friends who had gone to Louisiana with his ex-boss that his decision to stay here was a life-saver. His old boss screwed over every one of the employees he had move out to Louisiana, keeping none of the promises he made and even firing most of them, leaving them broke, jobless and homeless in Katrina-torn Louisiana.
To this day, the boy sees the timing of these events as special; he could have met me anytime, but he didn't until he had made a decision that for some reason made him uneasy. He still thanks me for "saving him from New Orleans," as if our meeting at that specific time was meant to be. If much more time had passed before we met, we may not have met at all, and all the wonderful things we've experienced together may never have happened. Who knows where each of us would be right now had things turned out that way?
There have been other strange happenings as well, but one that has had a huge impact on our relationship is something that happened a few weeks ago.
First off, let me state that under normal and even most not-normal circumstances, I'm niether a suspicious person nor do I snoop into other peoples' private business. It's a point I have prided myself on all my life, because it can be so very tempting if someone leaves a journal lying out or remains logged in to their e-mail. It's not the possibility of finding somethig bad; rather, it's a strange desire to just know something that you otherwise wouldn't; to be privvy to a secret and keep your knowledge as another secret. I've only given in to this temptation twice in my life (that I can remember) and the second time happened a few weeks ago.
At home one evening I decided to log onto Myspace to see if a friend had responded to a comment I'd made, and when I pulled up the Website, the boy's Myspace page was up with him still logged in. This has happened numerous times in the past, and always before I'd just log him out and log myself in, quick and easy, temptation properly squashed. This time, however, I got a feeling.
I trust the boy as I've not truly trusted anyone else before - ever - and know through proof and sound reasoning that this trust is well-placed. I do not suspect him of "messing around" or anything of the sort, but like any human my brain has a tendency to override such knowledge with that horrible little theoretical question, "Yeah, but what if I'm wrong?" When his page popped up I had the sudden almost desparate urge to pry. I scolded myself thoroughly, thinking, "I shouldn't do this! I have no reason to do this," as I clicked on the inbox icon and began to read, eventually going through every message sent to or received from another woman. You know - just in case.
I felt horrible doing it, especially since with each message - predictably - he remained true to me, even describing to these other women how happy he was with me, and what a great thing we had. The fact that feeling horrible about it didn't stop me makes me feel like the worst kind of person, and I still cringe thinking about it.
Toward the end of the messages I came across a few wherein he was catching up with an old highschool friend, and in this message he said something that momentarily floored me. After the usual "How've you been, I haven't heard from you in forever," and such, he updated this woman on his family life - namely that he had a son and had been married some years ago.
This was news to me.
Now, let me say right here that the fact that he was married before and has a child doesn't bother me in the least; what confused - and yes, I'll admit, bothered me - was that he hadn't told me this and we've been together for about a year and a half now. I wondered why he wouldn't have told me something like that - not because it would have changed my desire to be in a relationship with him (it wouldn't) but because that son is a part of his life, and I'd find out someday because of the simple desire for father to visit son and son to visit father. I wondered if there was something about the whole story he didn't want me know, or didn't trust me with, and that bothered me. I wasn't angry, really, just confused and ready to be angry it turned out to be some important thing that I needed to know, like if he hadn't been paying child support for years and there was a warrant out for his arrest because of it, or some such. That would be just a bit important for me to know, especially as we live together, you know?
Still feeling horrible for having read his personal communications, I admitted my snooping and asked why he hadn't told me about his son and previous marriage.
To his credit, he was not upset with me for having read his messages - in fact he consoled me while I cried and blubbered about what a horrible person I was. After calming me down and assuring me that "what is his is mine" and that I wasn't horrible, he told me the story behind that years-ago marriage and his son. I will not give out juicy details, as again they're not mine to give, but suffice it to say that, like Mama Wren's marriage to my step-dad, this was not a happy marriage either. In fact, it was downright awful from the sounds of it and had little love left to it, and the only thing that kept the boy with this woman was their son. He stayed with her until Phoenix (that's his son's name; pretty cool, huh?) was two years old, and divorced her then after "the last straw;" another act of her being unfaithful to him. He caught her in the act that time, and that was the end. He signed the divorce papers on his birthday, and left town.
He got into another bad relationahip shortly after that, with a horrible psychotic woman who, due to connections with his ex-wife's lover, consequently hated her and Phoenix. She refused to allow the boy to see him or even talk to him on the phone. She would get violent when the boy mentioned Phoenix, and threaten to kick him out and destroy all his belongings if he went to see him. Sadly, due to the boy's financial situation at the time, he would have had no where to go had this woman kicked him out. And he had no license then, so he couldn't even resort to living in his car if worse came to worst. He was stuck, or felt so.
Aside from sneaked phonecalls on Christmas and birthdays and too-short visits when his parents would pick the boy up and bring him to their house to see him, the boy didn't get to see Phoenix for five years because of this woman. Some of you may argue that he should have done whatever it took to be a part of his son's life, and you'd be right - but it's hard to see options when you're in a bad place, and he felt stuck with this psychotic violent woman and so for the sake of keeping a roof over his head and trying to figure a way out, he saw his son very little, only when she was unaware of it, and only for short times.
Needless to say, he felt like a horrible person, though he is in fact very much the opposite. He says, "I should have done this," or "I should have done that-" but I think most people know what it's like to be in a situation where you think you have no choice about something, even if you actually do. If you can't see an option, you can't act on it, but it's always easier to see options you coulldn't before after the fact. He's not a bad person, or irresponsible; he simply did what he felt he had to do. It wasn't easy for him; he still cries talking about it.
He then went on to explain that he hadn't told me all this when we first started dating because he was terrified that I'd consider him to be "damaged goods" and leave him. Of course I wouldn't, but considering the horrible people he dated in the past and how I'm the exact opposite of them, I can understand his hesitation. He knew he needed to tell me, but aside from just randomly sitting me down and telling me outright, which he was terrified to do, he couldn't think of a way to get started. Countless times perfect opportunities to bring it up would present themselves in conversation, but always it was when there was not enough time to talk about it. Understandably, this is not something that you simply mention in passing; it requires and took hours of talking to get through. Furthermore, he knew that the more time that passed the worse the act of keeping it secret became, which only added to his fear of me leaving him and therefore made it harder to bring up. "A vicious circle" is putting it mildly.
I can't imagine what he must have gone through in the last year and a half, not being able to talk to or see his son even though he was no longer with that psychotic violent woman. He didn't even get to call Phoenix on Christmas, because I was with him the whole day and he didn't dare sneak off to make the call when I might overhear.
Seeing this man that I love openly weeping over the actions - both his own and those of others - that lead him to not be a part of his son's life for six and a half years had me crying too, Cancer that I am. Of course I made sure he knew that I was totally ok with him having a son and talking to and visiting with that son. I don't understand how people can be so horrible to one another; how could that psychotic ex dare to keep him away from his son?!? Such atrocity is unforgivable, and I can only hope that with time he can heal, and so can Phoenix. Well, I'm not really too terribly worried about Phoenix; I remember well how flexible and adaptable children are, and how they see the truth of things sometimes better than adults do.
Although vastly relieved that I didn't hate him and woudln't try to keep him from his son - that, in fact, I was encouraging him to call and visit with Phoenix as soon as possible - the boy was afraid that so much time had passed that his son would want nothing to do with him. I told him of my belief that children are far more understanding and forgiving than adults, and that knowing the boy was his biological father, Phoenix would likely be thrilled to hear from him - not wary and aloof, unwilling to trust him to be a part of his life again. After many tears and hugs and reminders that I'm ok with the situation and I think it's important that he see his son, the boy finally calmed down, almost dazed with the realization that he was finally free of the burden of that secret and the fear and guilt that surrounded it. And that I still loved him.
I, of course, still felt awful about my earlier snooping, but he assured me again (and again the next day, and the day after that) that it was ok. Then he said it was fate that the secret of his son came out the way it did. Here are the things that make me agree with the theory that this was all meant to be this way: 1. He had been unable to bring it up himself and hated himself for it, but knew that he had to tell me before we could move farther in our relationship. 2. Until that day, I had only snooped into someone else's personal stuff once in my life, and have always been dead-against snooping, so my actions that day were extremely unusual, especially as I had no suspicions to go on. 3. Here's the trippiest part - this all took place a little over a week before the end of July. Phoenix's birthday is July 30, and the boy had been dreading the day, unsure of whether he'd get a chance to call his son, or if he even should (fearing his son not wanting anything to do with him). 4. We've been talking a lot about marriage lately, and although he was adamant that he would marry me "someday," he would get uncomfortable and vague if I pressed for details; this was because he hadn't told me about Phoenix and his previous mariiage and knew he needed to before seriously considering taking our relationship to that level.
Me doing something very much out of character for no apparent reason took care of all of that. Now I know about Phoenix, so the boy doesn't have to worry about figuring out how to tell me, knowing that each day that passes makes the secret worse. He told me all the details of the story and many of them were details that he didn't need share, so there is nothing more kept from me to possibly wonder and worry about. He is free to finally be a part of hs son's life again, and knows that I fully support him in that effort. And, finally, all this happened in time for him to call Phoenix on a very important day - his birthday.
After talking to Phoenix for hours a few days later, the boy was red-eyed again, having cried when he realized how excited his son was to hear from him again, finally. Of course Phoenix doesn't hate him; this is his father, no matter what may have happened between him and his mother, and you cannot easily break the bond between parent and child, no matter how many miles and years may separate them. After my mother and father divorced when I was a baby, I did not see my own biological father (when I was old enough to remember, anyway) until I was seven or eight I think, and we got along just great at that "first" meeting. I called him dad, even though that's what I called my step-father. And although we've had the typical parent vs. teenager/twenty-something spats, I love him dearly, and enjoy his company. He taugh me how to fish and catch snakes and lizards, and no amount of years of not spending time together when I was a child will change my love of doing just that, or my knowledge that he was the one who taught me - my dad.
The boy will realize - is realizing, I think - that the same is true of him and Phoenix. This makes him smile even on bad days, and makes him cry with that smile on his face.
Fate is a strange thing, and unpredicatable. The connections made by some thing, or maybe just by our own decisions and actions, never cease to amaze me, no matter how I may wish to believe that I alone control my life and the path it takes. Phoenix is coming to visit for a few days this week, and most of next week when I have a break between terms, and the boy and I are taking time off from work for it. I've never been a kid person; I've always been adamant that I will never have children, that I have no interest in them, and it was true, until I met the boy. I'm still not making any solid plans and may never have children of my own, but sometimes I find myself wondering what name I would pick for a daughter or son, and it's always connected to the boy. (Don't tell my oldest friends - they'll dance with glee and say, "I told you so!" - they've been telling me I'll change my mind about kids for as long as they've known me.)
Now I'll get to sort of try my hand at being a parental/guardian figure, for just a few days, just to see what it might be like. Only I won't have to deal with diapers and all that wonderful baby-stuff. I may be even more adamant about no kids by the end of next week - who knows? - or I may be willing to give in a bit and play with the idea of "someday ... maybe."
On another cool, fate-ish-type note, you do know the legend of the phoenix, right? The bird who, after burning away completely, rises again from it's own ashes? The boy told me that Phoenix is the only reason he's alive, that his life held no meaning for him anymore before his son came along, and that's why he gave him that name. Phoenix was the boy's return to life, so the return of him to Phoenix's life is all the more magical.
I am happy for the boy that he no longer has to worry and feel guilty, but more importantly I'm happy that he gets to see his son again, with nothing to hide or cut visits short; I'm glad he is finally able to be a father again. I'm proud of him. And I will marry him someday.
Thank you, Fate. I guess you're really not so bad after all.
